❁

[ʜᴀʀʀʏ]

"You're a psychologist?" He asked, something like shock taking over his features.

I nodded nonchalantly. "That I am." I confirmed.

He looked at me for a long time, no words coming from either of us. I finished my pasta and he did the same, all in silence. I expected it to be tense, but it was really closer to comfortable. It wasn't comfortable, per say, but something close to it.

Finally, he placed his plate down and looked at me. "Then what were you doing at the cafe?"

I tilted my head, confused. "The cafe?"

He nodded. "I've been around this part of the city for awhile; I've seen you. You come out of that little cafe on the corner of fifth street."

"I work there on weekends. It's something to take my mind off of everything at my main job. Plus, my friend works there; him and his boyfriend own it." I explained.

His eyebrows raised. "Boyfriend, huh?"

I nodded, narrowing my eyes. "Yes, boyfriend. Problem?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Like you need to know."

He smiled, "alright, didn't need the attitude, but alright."

He got up, taking both our empty plates. He walked to the door, turning to me to say goodnight, then leaving.

I sighed, relaxing back against the mattress. I have to get out of here. I started thinking of possible ways to do that. No matter what I thought of, one thing was clear; I had to get him to trust me.

✵

"Morning, sunshine."

That's the first thing I heard when I woke up. I groggily turned on my side, facing the voice.

"Morning, psycho."

He closed the door and leaned against it, a pout taking over his features.

"That's not very nice..." He said, leaving room for me to say my name.

"Yeah, nice try." I said, shaking my head and sitting up.

"Fine, guess I'll just have to research you then."

"Research me?" I asked, "how's that?"

"Hack a few hospital databases and find your birth certificate." He said, shrugging.

My eyes widened, "that's illegal!"

He smirked, amused. "Criminal."

I shook my head. I was about to go off until I remembered something I had learned in school;
It's harder for someone to hurt you if they know your name or if you look them in the eyes. It makes them realize that you're an actual person.

I shrugged my shoulders, "In that case, It's Harry. Now it's your turn."

He turned cold, quickly. He shook his head, already reaching for the doorknob. I had to stop him. Time to play the part.

"Well, that's hardly fair. I am trapped in your basement. What harm is knowing your name going to do?"

He glared at me. "You're really asking what harm that can do?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"The least you can do is tell me your name. I know you think it's safer for you if I don't know, because then I can't tell anyone, and it's safer for me because then I won't have anything to tell, but, if movies are anything to go by,  I'm not getting out of here anytime soon, so you don't have to worry."

He gave me something like an amused smile. "Safer? You think I care about safety? I murder people for a living."

I looked down. "But you have to care about mine, I am your hostage after all. And yourself, you have to care about your safety."

"My safety, huh? If I die tomorrow, I want to die getting shot fleeing a scene."

My lip trembled, suddenly very unsure of everything I thought before. "And me?"

He looked at me, eyes emotionless.

"By the time I'm done with you, you're just going to be another blood stain in my once white carpet."